


For Granted

by my_angel_misha



Category: Supernatural
Genre: I don't usually write angst but sometimes it just comes out, I'm so sorry for writing this, It was cute in the beginning?, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, it's short and emotional
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 11:13:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10763109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_angel_misha/pseuds/my_angel_misha
Summary: This is a very short, depressing fic I wrote. I don't know why I wrote it, but don't read it unless you're looking for heartbreak.





	For Granted

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry about this.

Dean Winchester loved Castiel.

He loved how the angel's eyes lit up whenever Dean walked into the room.  
His eyes were transcendent in the most beautiful way.  
His gazes were so deep and meaningful that Dean would get shivers whenever the angel would cast his eyes upon him.  
Sadness, anger, love.

Dean loved his angel.

They would spend days laying in bed, laughing and holding one another. Days spent taking picnics into the forest, the angel stopping to speak with a butterfly or a sparrow on the way. Days were spent sitting on the beach, both the angel and his human admiring the matching rings that sat upon their left hands.

Castiel was so different.

Once upon a time, a long time ago, Castiel was a warrior. He was thoughtless. Death was just death to him. It was inevitable. He would watch the life drain from another's eyes without a single thought of remorse. The roles were reversed now.

Castiel was strong.

Even as his grace began to fade, Castiel was strong. Every day, a feather would drop from his beautiful ebony wings. Dean's heart would crack; pieces of his heart chipped off whenever he would witness one of the angel's feathers drop. Sometimes they'd be at lunch, and suddenly Dean would get quiet, trailing off in the middle of a sentence, eyes welling with tears. Another dropped. Another.

Castiel was so very fragile.

His eyes that were once full of grace and love were dimming. That dark blue turned pale in comparison. Dean watched it happen bit by bit. He'd gaze into those eyes as the angel spoke, and would realize that they were shades lighter than they used to be. The angel's soft laugh would turn into a coughing fit, his eyes slowly turning grey.

Dean was not okay.

Dean began to find tissues in the garbage can. Tissues lined with blood from his angel. What was happening? Castiel would just smile weakly and shrug it off. He just had allergies. Papercuts. It was alright. Everything was okay.

Was it?

One day, Dean woke up to the angel sobbing quietly into his pillow, tears falling from his grey eyes, wedding ring gripped in his shaking fist. Was was wrong with his angel?

Castiel never cried.

In all the years Dean had known Castiel, he had never seen the angel cry. He was strong beyond belief. Until now. Every morning when Dean woke up, it was to a crying angel. His husband was breaking apart from the inside.

He had no feathers left.

Castiel's wings were like branches now. They were bony vertebrae which once held feathers innumerable. The branches were the same dull grey as the angel's eyes.

Dean began to cry.

Castiel would comfort his husband. His human that was so, so important to him. The angel would wrap his arms around the human, his grip weak, tears falling freely from his own eyes. "Everything will be okay." The angel would whisper, his breath catching in his throat.

Castiel didn't get out of bed anymore.

The angel couldn't find the strength. He laid in bed all day, bloody tissues finding their way into the nearest garbage can. At the bottom of that garbage can was Castiel's last feather, although he didn't seem to remember that.

Absolute heartbreak.

One day, Dean woke up next to Castiel. He angel's eyes were confused, the dullest grey Dean had ever seen them. The next words that the angel spoke would never leave Dean's brain. They would never stop repeating, over and over. "Who are you?" Dean would never be the same.

Castiel died on a Thursday.

The angel didn't know who his husband was, but he let the man hold him anyway. The branches of his wings cracked as he wheezed in his final breaths. Dean sat there, holding him, sobbing as quietly as he could manage.

Until death do us part.

Dean watched the angel slip away, one more beautiful, weak smile gracing his lips. He was gone. Just like that. His husband. Gone.

Dean took his life that night.

He'd see his angel again. That was Dean's last thought as the cold barrel of his gun was pressed up against the side of his head. He'd see Castiel again. He would. Dean took his last breath, gun gripped in one hand, one of Castiel's feathers gripped in the other. This was the only way. He'd see his angel again.

Would he really?

 


End file.
